Page 151 of Kings & Queen

Without waiting for him to greet me, I said, “Son, your guards were right. He’s pulling up as we speak.”

“Father, listen to me carefully. You don’t have much time. Do not trust a word he says. Get Mother and Kinsley to the safe room. Now! We are fifteen minutes out. Engage him, keep him talking. Ask for proof, whatever you need to do, but do not let him anywhere near her.”

The urgency in Alek’s voice put me on edge. From the moment I knew she was Romanov’s granddaughter, I knew this day would come. Originally, I had hoped that she’d be gone, and we wouldn’t have to deal with this situation, but then I got to know her. And now, after seeing her with my sons, I found myself grappling with the weight of it.

My apprehension wasn’t with the power these men had, but more about how much it haunted me that they might be capable of the unspeakable acts she endured as a child. I could still see the terror and confusion in her eyes as she screamed that night about someone being branded.

Alek’s bodyguards had spotted the vehicle and then, as bold as could be, her grandfather and uncle strode into the restaurant without a care in the world. The whole scenario left a bad taste in my mouth, and I feared I was about to engage in a dangerous game of chess.

Hanging up with him, I called Sophia and used our code word for the first time in our adult married lives. As a diplomat, I was used to clandestine operations and dangerous missions. Having established a safe room protocol, I knew she would execute it without question.

Not more than two minutes later, I received the notification, letting me know the safe room door was firmly closed and the lock engaged. Sophia and Kinsley were safe for the moment. I turned my attention back to the task at hand. I had the skill set, honed over years navigating the political landscape, to deal with this man.

Adrenaline coursed through me, and every fiber of my being focused on engaging him as if this were a perfectly normal occurrence in my life. While I watched on from a distance, the driver stepped out and opened the door for Romanov and his son. They moved like they were on a mission and carried an air of determination.

I waited for my doorman to announce their arrival and then instructed him to put them in the front drawing room. Time seemed to crawl as I allowed five minutes to pass, a calculated delay to assert my authority. After all, they’d arrived unannounced. Their lack of courtesy dictated the response.

As I approached, I took a deep breath and turned the handle. My steps were measured and purposeful as I entered. Our eyes met, and their gazes flickered briefly, acknowledging my presence before settling back into that determined demeanor.

I extended my hand in greeting. “Christopher King.”

“Mikhail Romanov, and this is my son Konstantin.” The man’s voice reverberated in the room, carrying a distinct air of authority and urgency. “I would like to see my granddaughter,” he said, getting right to the point.

His thick accent held that familiar cadence of Sophia’s father. His gaze intensified, viewing my lack of movement as defiance, as I nodded in his direction but didn’t acknowledge his request by sending for her immediately.

Adjusting my jacket, I smoothed the fabric. “I assume you’re speaking about Ms. Taylor?” The gesture, while casual, seemed to escalate the tension in the room.

“I am. Now, if you’d get her.” The words hung in the air, his demand causing me to raise an eyebrow in his direction.

He had a lot of nerve, not even a please. Internally, my irritation rose two notches, but I knew the best approach was to maintain a serene facade and walk the tightrope of this situation.

“Pardon me, Mr. Romanov,” I interjected, maintaining a measured tone, “but Ms. Taylor is currently under my protection, and I’m going to need a bit more information before I simply call her to the drawing room.” Pausing briefly to check the clock in the room, I then continued, my eyes locked with Romanov’s. “I’m sure you can understand.” The implication hung in the air. With equal measure, I posed my next question. “Do you have proof that you are her grandfather?” I asked, trying to buy time.

“Konstantin, the envelope, please,” he said, never breaking eye contact.

He extended his hand, offering it to me. Grasping it, I brushed my fingers against the smooth surface. I broke the seal and took the papers out. Scanning it, I scrutinized the original birth certificate. The room remained still. The only sound the soft rustle of paper as I studied it further.

The document listed her as Mischa Natalya Dmitrieva. It was a far cry from Kinsley Taylor. My gaze shifted from the paper to Romanov, my eyes meeting his with measured intensity.

“You’ll excuse my question, but neither the father’s nor the mother’s last name listed here is Romanov. Care to explain that?”

“Keep looking,” he commented, a subtle flicker of intrigue dancing within his eyes.

I thumbed through more documents and came across her father’s original birth certificate, as well as his adoptive birth certificate, which showed Grigori Dmitriev’s lineage. Romanov then handed me a stack of photos. They encompassed her life from the time she was born to the time she was a small child. If I had to guess, anywhere from six to eight years old.

She was tiny even then, so it made dating them hard, but I noticed a gap in the photographs. The next set seemed to encompass her teenage years and more recent photos from Washington.

My gaze lifted from the photos, meeting Konstantin’s. “If you don’t mind my asking, why the gap?” The intensity of my scrutiny matched his guarded countenance.

His response was laced with defiance and impatience. “That isn’t any of your business.”

My lips tightened at his dismissal of my concern, but his next words had me internally fuming. “Now, I think my father and I have waited long enough. I’d like to see my niece.”

In response, my voice remained steady, hiding the urge to throw them out. “Yes, I understand your urgency. In all due time. The gaps raise legitimate questions for me. Given what I know about your niece, I’ll need a bit more information. Quite frankly, your desire to see herright nowpales in comparison to me ensuring her safety and well-being.”

“Is that so? You’re concerned about her safety?” he sneered.

“I have several more questions,” I said diplomatically.